“Welcome to your new home, Petula Gomez.” His gaze swept over her with the same detachment. “Rent is due again next week.”Austin, Texas
Two years agoRicky Saldivar knocked on the front door of Van Quiso’s cabin and tore a hand through his hair.
Why had he even bothered styling it? He’d raked his fingers through the gelled pompadour cut so many times on the way here it probably looked like he just crawled out of bed. After hours of fucking.
It was nerves. Completely normal. Not that he was a nervous guy. It was just…
Christ, he was at Van’s house. Standing on the motherfucker’s front porch. Willingly.
This wasn’t normal. Not even in the same realm.
Shifting beneath the overhead light, he squinted at his reflection in the glass door and tried to fix his hair. The longer strands on top spiked in every direction, refusing to be tamed.
Why the fuck was he fussing over his appearance?
Nerves.
Excitement.
Anticipation.
All of it coursed through him in fitful waves.
He knocked again and slipped his hands into his front pockets.
The deadbolt turned. It twisted three more times before the door opened.
Van’s wife stood on the other side, wearing a tight red-as-sin minidress and a tremulous smile.
“Hi, Ricky.” Amber Quiso chewed her lip, her gaze flitting restlessly over the dark front yard. “Sorry to make you wait. I…I was having a moment. Nothing major. You know, I’m… Sometimes, I slip and… Ugh, save me from this rambling.”
“It’s good to see you. You look beautiful, as always.”
“Thank you.” She smoothed her palms down the front of the dress and cleared her voice. “He’s waiting.”
She didn’t move to let him inside, her eyes stark as she directed them at her bare feet.
He’d only met her a couple of times in passing and knew she struggled with some disorders, one of them being a fear of open spaces. Just the thought of stepping outside used to freak her the fuck out. She supposedly had a better handle on that now but still had bad days.
“Amber?”
“Yeah? Shit. Yes. I mean, what?” She seemed to snap out of a simmering panic attack. “Sorry, I was…listening to my heartbeats. Not counting them. I wasn’t counting. Because I’m okay. Really. I’m just a little off. Not that I’m crazy or whatever you’ve heard…”
“You don’t want to keep him waiting.” He nodded behind her, expecting her to let him in.
“He’s around back. Outside. I’m supposed to take you.” She pointed at the path that led around the side of the house. “The long way. Bastard.” She whispered the last word with a huff.
“Okay.” He stepped off the porch and waited for her to join him.
She didn’t move, her hands balling at her sides and her jaw rigidly locked.
Maybe Van demanded this from her as a form of therapy? Or perhaps he just liked to torment her? He was a sadist, after all, which was precisely why Ricky had requested this meeting.
“I assume Van told you the reason I’m here.”
“Yeah.” Her gaze lifted to his. “Are you sure you want this?”
“I know what I need. Who I need it with is another story.” He laughed under his breath but didn’t feel the humor in it. “I’d choose anyone but him. Believe me, I’ve tried. But…”
“He’s the best.”
The best at beating, tormenting, and fucking someone into the most violent, life-changing orgasms known to man.
The only other person who would even come close to bringing Ricky to his knees was his best friend, Martin.
But Martin was straight.
And homophobic.
An impossible fantasy.
“Yeah.” He blew out a breath. “Van’s the best at being a real asshole.”
“Oh, but he’s a beautiful, loyal asshole.” She stepped onto the porch and inhaled deeply. “He doesn’t want to hurt you. He only agreed to do this because he wants to help you.”
“I know.”
“We’re monogamous.”
He tilted his face toward the night sky and closed his eyes. “Look, I’m not here to steal your husband.” He met her gaze. “I don’t even like the guy.”
“But you’re attracted to him.”
“He’s…compelling.”
Even when Van had hurt him beyond his extremely high pain threshold, whipped him until he passed out, and fucked his throat to the point of suffocation, he thought his captor was the sexiest, most viciously captivating male in existence.
Until he met Martin Lockwood.
Martin and his goddamn megawatt smile, Viking warrior build, overbearing protectiveness, and vigilant pale eyes… Everything about the man kindled a roaring need in Ricky, one that wasn’t reciprocated and never would be.
Jesus fuck, get over it already.
“He’ll give you what you came for.” Amber anchored her fists on the toned curves of her hips. “But he won’t fuck you.”
“Story of my life,” he muttered too low for her to hear.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She raised her chin, her tone barbed with ferocity. “No intercourse and no kissing on the mouth. Those are my rules.”
“Okay…” He cast her a concerned look. “If you’re not comfortable with this, I’ll go. I don’t want to cause problems.”